The Girl Who Never Killed
by eruditereader
Summary: She was the only tribute who never killed and successfully outsmarted all of the Gamemaker's traps. In her own way she was mocking the Games, and so she was given a choice: Kill or Be Killed. The real reason why Foxface ate the Nightlock.
1. Chapter 1

**The Girl Who Never Killed**

**Summary: She was the only tribute who never killed and successfully outsmarted all of the Gamemaker's traps. In her own way she was mocking the Games, and so she was given a choice: Kill or Be Killed. The real reason why Foxface ate the Nightlock.**

**I don't really plan on this being a long story, perhaps just five or so chapters long. Just a little theory I had on why Foxface may have eaten the Nightlock. I mean, we all know she was too smart not to know it was poisonous! This first chapter is in third person but the rest will be in Foxface's point of view. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters, they belong to Suzanne Collins.**

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Chapter 1-

He stares at the screen intently, barely blinking, his hands moving swiftly along the controls. He twists a lever and punches a large red button. On screen the mutation breaths out a ball of fire at the red headed tribute. But to his dismay she still manages to dodge it, swiftly scampering up a tree. He lets out a groan of frustration and the mutt on screen does the same. Its eyes flash a fiery red yet the girl still grins at it, almost mockingly.

She ducks behind a cluster of leaves. The leaves rustle but the Head Gamemaker cannot see what she is doing. He twists a few knobs and the camera zooms into the trees but he can't see anything more than the thick, dark green shrub. But when he finally gets a view and sees what she is doing it is too late.

He fumbles with the knob and the camera zooms out just as a large rock comes flying out of the tree, dripping with water, and hits the mutt squarely in the chest.

The Gamemaker shouts out in frustration and on the screen the mutt roars. In the blink of an eye it explodes into a mass of flaming feathers which float down and singe the ground as they land.

Seneca Crane pushes himself away from the controls and holds his head in his hands. The Firehawk was a newly developed mutt and he had been so sure that it would succeed in injuring the girl. After all, it was a huge bird made up entirely of flames and breathed out fireballs the size of a new born baby. And with himself controlling it, surely he'd be able to at least burn the girl.

Yet somehow she has managed to outsmart him once again.

This isn't the first mutt sent after the tribute. Previously he had produced a wall of poisonous fog in her path, which she had easily surpassed by simply crawling along the floor. He had then tried to send a nest of tracker jackers onto her but she had quickly lit a fire - the smoke knocking the mutations out- and ran. This has been the third time the smart girl has escaped his trap and to say he is angry would be an understatement. He just itches to send a barrel of explosives down onto her right there and then but he knows that isn't his job. No, all he has to do is injure her or drive her towards the other tributes. After all, simply killing her would bring the audience no satisfaction.

But he can't even do that.

The high pitched shriek of the telephone brings him out of his thoughts. He jumps and quickly grabs the phone out of the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Mr Crane? President Snow speaking," is the reply.

Seneca's blood runs cold at the sound of the voice. The President himself is calling, this cannot be good.

"S-sir?" He stutters.

"I hope you aren't too busy Crane?" Snow says in a voice that suggests he couldn't care otherwise.

"No, no." He answers quickly before realising that he _should_ be busy. "I-I mean yes, yes, just checking...the tributes, sir...y-yes."

He is now a stuttering mess and he has to bite down hard on his tongue to stop himself from speaking. His face burns with embarrassment as he struggles to form a simple sentence.

But the truth is, he is terrified. Others who have personally received a call from the President are now 6 feet under.

The President ignores the Gamemaker's incoherent speech and says: "I request an urgent meeting with you as soon as possible."

Seneca's face pales. So he was right. An urgent meeting can only mean one thing: he is going to be given his death sentence. He failed to bring down a child and now he is going to pay the price.

"Of course." He says struggling to keep his voice steady.

"I shall be arriving at your office in ten minutes, Crane. In the meantime, keep focussing on District 5."

The President hangs up, leaving a terrified Seneca Crane still clutching the phone in his shaking hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-

I sit curled up in a tree, my legs brought up to my chest. It's an uncomfortable position to be in and I can feel the branches digging into my back but I am trying to conserve as much body heat as possible.

_I could really do with that fire bird right now_, I think to myself and let out a small giggle, which quickly turns into a violent shiver.

It's getting dark and I know I should sleep. It's been days since I've slept well but it's too cold at night for me to lose consciousness. I hold my arms tighter around myself and shiver again. If only the Career supplies hadn't blown up. I'm sure there must have been a sleeping bag in there somewhere if I looked properly. I would have easily been able to get it.

I grin as I think of the brainless Careers. Thinking they can outsmart everyone else with their silly mines. Not smart enough to look around and spot a certain someone watching and listening to them.

"Stupid people." I mumble to myself and smile slyly. They didn't even realise that I had stolen most of their supplies.

I distract myself with amusing thoughts of the ridiculous ways the Careers could get themselves killed. Trip up over their own two feet and land on a sharp pole, aim for another tribute but accidently shoot themselves...I giggle quietly.

I am so occupied in my little game that I almost fall out of the tree in fright as the loud sound of a trumpet reaches my ears. I clutch onto a branch tightly as Claudius Templesmith's voice echoes around the arena.

"Greetings, Tributes," he announces.

I know at once what this is.

Before entering the arena I watched recaps of some of the past Hunger Games. In one I remember the same voice calling the remaining tributes in for a feast. They were all starving so of course they went. It ended up being a trap to get them all to attack each other.

Does he really think anyone is going to fall for that again? Sure I could really do with some food right now but I'm not stupid enough to walk into a second bloodbath.

As if reading my mind he suddenly says: "Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately."

I frown and furrow my brow in thought. What do I need? Well, I wouldn't mind a sleeping bag and, of course, food.

"Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."

The night goes silent and it's suddenly a lot darker and colder, almost as if the Gamemakers are forcing me out. I know this time there will be no avoiding the trap so I might as well go. But no doubt it will only end in a bloodbath.

I rack my brains trying to think. I know what I have to do: outsmart the rest. I have no weapon so I will have to find a way to get there, get my pack and leave before any of the other tributes can reach me.

Suddenly the thought comes to me. Such a simple idea I let out a burst of laughter. Of course, the perfect plan.

I know I need to leave as soon as I can for it to work so I quickly swing off the backpack full of supplies I raided from the Careers and hide it amid the branches of the tree. I then hop down to the ground and jump up and down to get the feeling back into my feet.

It's completely dark now but I have a pair of night vision glasses which I slip on and instantly I see again. Then, as swiftly and as nimbly as a fox, I silently dart through the trees.

I pause when I hear a branch snap and jump quickly into the cover of a tree. However the disturbance is only from a squirrel and after it has passed I continue on.

It's still dark when I reach the clearing holding the grand Cornucopia. I silently climb a tree and look around but I see nothing. I then cock my head to the side and listen out for sounds but all I hear is insects and the faint rustle of small animals.

I know that it is now or never so I quickly carry out my plan. The mouth of the Cornucopia can't be more than 200 metres away so I count myself down then sprint towards it. I focus my gaze straight ahead and don't stop running until I have reached the safety of the giant horn.

I look around but see nothing and judging by the fact that I am still alive and in one piece, nobody seems to have seen me. I grin but slink into the shadows just in case. Now all I have to do is wait.

I must have been closer to the Cornucopia than I thought as it isn't until a few hours later when there is finally a sign of the promised feast.

My eyes are just starting to droop shut when I feel the ground start to rumble underneath me. I am instantly awake and alert and I grip the metal sides for support. I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a squeak of fear until finally the shaking stops.

I open my eyes and walk towards the large opening. The ground in front of me has opened up and a large white table has risen, on it resting four backpacks. I know I cannot afford to waste any time. I can't be sure whether any of the other tributes have come or not so it is pretty much take the opportunity now or lose it.

Before I start to have doubts, I dart out and grab the small green backpack labelled 5. I briefly consider stealing the rest but I know this will only cause the others to come after me. So instead, I swing the pack over my arm and run into the trees, undisturbed. I am mildly surprised that my plan worked but I know I have made it just in time as I hear a distant shout. I grin and jump into a tree, swinging my way back to my makeshift camp.

When I get back I am overwhelmed by exhaustion as the lack of sleep finally catches up to me and I just about have enough energy to climb up to my belongings. As I pull off the backpack and place it at the top of my pack I wonder what is in it. I know it definitely isn't a sleeping bag as the pack is too small so whatever it is can probably wait until the morning.

I hop down from the tree and curl up on the floor. I know I will be in no danger tonight. The rest of the tributes are probably too occupied fighting over their packs to come after me and the audience have probably had enough excitement today for the Gamemakers to send a trap after me.

As my eyes slowly start to droop shut I hear the single blast of a cannon before I fall into slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3-

I am awoken by a loud rumble of thunder followed by a flash of lightening. I jump in fright and flatten my back against the tree. Rain falls heavily down, and it is only then that I realise just how wet I am. I jump to my feet.

My clothes are drenched and heavy with rain. My hair hangs limp and sticks to my face and neck. My boots are flooded with water. I am so cold that I can't stop my body from shaking violently. My whole body feels numb and my fingers have started to go blue.

I cry out in distress but quickly clap a hand over my mouth. I had almost forgotten where I was.

It is still showering with rain though the thunderstorm, thankfully, now seems to have stopped. It is clear that my best option is to find shelter but it is raining so heavily I can barely see two feet in front of me.

I slump back down to the muddy floor in defeat. I feel something digging into my back and pull it out. It's the pack of things I stole from the Careers. I instantly brighten up. I remember pinching a sheet of thick plastic from their camp when they first set up the mines. I had been too scared to take anything big in fear of setting off the explosives so I had settled for that and a pack of dried fruit. It could come in handy now.

I dig it out. I know it isn't the best shelter but it is the only thing I have. I get started setting it up and soon I have managed to build myself a makeshift camp. The plastic rests on a circle of sturdy branches I stabbed into the soft ground. It does nothing to block out the cold but it does shield me from the rain.

My first task once I am under the shelter is to pull off my boots. I tip them upside down and a large stream of dirty rain water comes pouring out. Next I pull off my socks which are so muddy they have turned from grey to brown. Squeezing them out is the best I can do. I would squeeze out my clothes next but I am sure I'd freeze to death if I take them off so I have to make do with them being wet.

Although I am still cold and wet I feel a little better. I curl up into a ball and rest my head against the packs. I chew some dried fruit but I know I have to ration it. Once the food has run out that's it. There are no more Career supplies to loot from.

Suddenly the Anthem blares. I stick out my head and look up to the sky. No deaths. I must have slept through the last projection because I remember hearing a canon before I last fell asleep. I wonder who it was.

The rain seems to have calmed down a bit. I do hope tomorrow brings nicer weather.

However the next day is just as worse. The thunderstorm has started up again and the rumbling seems to shake the ground. I pull down the plastic and wrap it around myself. I cannot handle this cold for much longer. Sleep is the only way past it.

I am surprised the Gamemakers haven't been after me yet. Something exciting must be going on elsewhere in the arena.

My thoughts are confirmed when the canon goes off. I almost mistake it for thunder but that evening when I look up into the sky I see the giant boy from District 11's face hover in the sky. I am surprised at this. He was so big and had a violent look to him, I would imagine he would be hard to kill.

That leaves just three other tributes: Either Cato, Clove, Katniss or Peeta. One of them was killed at the Cornucopia but which one I'm not sure. It doesn't make a difference anyway. They are all tributes I would never want to run into.

I shiver, though this time not from the cold.

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To my content I wake up the next morning to find it has stopped raining. In fact, it is now warm and sunny. I stretch and wince at the sound of my stiff limbs cracking.

Looking around it is as if the thunderstorm hadn't even happened. My clothes are still slightly damp but not as soaked as they have been these past days.

I get to my feet and start to sort through my stuff. My supplies are rapidly dwindling. I root through the backpack for some dried fruit or crackers but can't seem to find them. I frown. I could have sworn I had at least one pack left.

Whatever the case I now have a big problem: I've run out of food. I figure I have to leave my camping spot and make my way down near the stream if I want to gather some nuts and berries.

I am gathering my belongings together when I notice the green backpack from the Cornucopia. I'd been so focussed on keeping myself dry I'd forgotten to open it! The pack feels heavy yet whatever is inside doesn't seem to be that big. I unzip the pack and tip out the contents onto my hand. I feel a slight sting and drop the object.

When I see what is lying on the floor my stomach turns.

A knife.

Slowly I reach down and pick it up. It's nothing special, just a small silver blade with a thick black handle. But when I tilt it to the side the sun glints off the serrated edge and a shiver runs down my spine.

As I run my eyes over the length of the blade I notice a small strip of paper curled just over the top of the handle. I bite my lip and carefully unfurl it from the blade.

The strip of paper is printed with four words which bring a wave of nausea as I read it: kill or be killed.

The message must be from the Gamemakers, maybe even President Snow himself.

I'm not stupid. I knew from the moment I was reaped what I would have to do. If you want to win the Hunger Games you have to kill. But I've got so far without killing anyone I guess I thought I'd gotten away with it. Of course the President isn't going to want a Victor who won without killing, it defeats the entire purpose of his sick Games.

But I know now there is no escaping it.

I recall the list of people who might be left. Katniss, Peeta, Cato and Clove, although one of them died at the Cornucopia the other night. I hope it was Cato. Or Clove. Or Katniss. Or even Peeta. I groan and hold my head in my hands. Whoever it was that died there are still three more powerful tributes left, all of which wouldn't hesitate to kill me.

I look down at the knife again and slowly wrap my hand around the handle, holding the blade away from me. I imagine thrusting it into someone's chest, the pointed razor-sharp edge piercing the soft skin, a fountain of dark warm blood spilling out of the puncture. I hear the heart shattering last cry of the victim and see the life leaving their eyes.

I drop the knife and double over, vomiting until my throat burns from the acid. Tears stream down my face and my entire body shakes as I break down. I don't care if the cameras are trained on me and the whole country are watching.

I can't do this. _I can't do this._

This was not supposed to happen, I was not supposed to get reaped into the Games. I feel weak, so weak.

I sink down to the ground and hold my head in my hands. The edge of my shoes brushes the knife. I look down at it as I attempt to pull myself together. With a deep breath I stretch out my hand and pick up the knife. The note also lies somewhere on the ground but I ignore it. I know what I have to do.

I jump to my feet with a sudden urgency, a need to get this over with. If I think about it any longer I will drive myself insane. I sling my backpack onto my back and stick the knife into the side pocket.

Then, with another deep breath I start to walk, following the direction of the stream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, here it is, the last chapter. A huge thank you to all the reviewers, those who have favourited or followed and, of course, all of my readers. I hope you have enjoyed this short fic and please feel free to leave me any questions or points to improve.**

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Chapter 4-

I am so lost in thought I almost walk straight into the clearing where two other tributes are sitting. Luckily, before I end up revealing myself, I hear a voice and quickly hide behind a large tree.

"Katniss we need to split up. I know I'm chasing the game away."

I peek between a branch, trying to be as still and silent as possible as I witness the exchange between the two tributes from District 12.

"Only because your leg's hurt." Katniss replies.

I hold back a snigger. I've watched Peeta early on in the games and I know he can't blame it on his leg. It's no wonder Cato found him so easily.

"I know," Peeta says, "So, why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful."

"Not if Cato comes and kills you."

So now I know who is left: Katniss, Peeta and Cato.

I remember Cato wrestling with an instructor in the training centre. The instructor was down after less than 30 seconds. I cannot forget the look on Cato's face, nor the way he flexed his impossibly large muscles as if throwing someone to the floor with such force that they become unconscious was something he did every day.

I imagine myself facing off with him. Me with my lone measly knife and him with his core strength and the countless weapons he probably has. The thought again makes me want to retch.

I hear a short whistle and peak through the trees. Katniss and Peeta have both got to their feet. If they are going to split up one of them could come in my direction and see me. I have no doubt they would not hesitate to kill me.

I turn and zip through the trees, away from them. If I can just wait until Peeta is alone maybe I can sneak up on him. But that would leave Katniss who I'm sure would not stray too far from Peeta. She would be on me in an instant and I've seen her with that bow and arrow.

But I have no choice. Kill or be killed. I definitely do not want to be targeted by the Gamemakers again. I am too weak to battle with one of their latest mutations.

As I walk on further the heat in the arena seems to intensify. My head throbs and my stomach aches with hunger and sickness.

I decide to stop by the stream and fill up on some water. Maybe if I drink lots it will take away the edge of hunger.

As I am walking towards the stream I stumble across a pack, on it lying some food. One apple, two rolls and a lump of cheese. My eyes widen and I wonder if I am imagining it. Slowly I reach out a hand and poke my finger into the cheese. A thick blob of soft cheese coats the end of my finger, which I greedily lick off, savouring the sharp taste of the luxurious food, clearly from the Capitol.

After weeks of living off dried fruit the taste of cheese sends me to heaven. Maybe that's why I don't stop to think about where this food has actually come from.

I am just about to reach out and grab a roll when I hear a branch snap. Instinctively I jump back into the shelter of the trees, looking around to see if I've been spotted. But I cannot see or hear anyone, just the rushing of the currents in the stream.

It is then that I realise that the food must belong to Peeta. Of course, where else. It's not as if the Gamemakers were going to leave a feast lying round for me. This must be where Peeta decided to gather plants. Although looking around I can see that his search is useless. The only plants around here are large bushes of nightlock berries which may look temptingly juicy on the outside but as little as one drop could kill you.

I shudder at the thought of something which looks so innocent being so deadly.

I turn away from the clearing walking within the tree line. I try to distract myself by thinking up a table of glorious food which will be presented to me when I am Victor. But somehow my mind keeps darting back to the poisonous berries.

One drop. That's all it would take. One sweet, tantalising drop and it could all be over.

I pause, my thoughts crashing over me like a tidal wave. Could it really be that simple? Kill or be killed they said.

Slowly, my feet start to move, guiding me through the trees towards a bush holding large clusters of nightlock. In my mind I am screaming out, urging myself to stop and turn around, to run away from the poison and back to the safety of my camp. To curl up in a ball and pretend I am home and not in this arena of nightmares.

But I have reached the bush and there they are, an arm's length away from me, so fresh and ripe and inviting. I cannot stop myself. I reach out and pluck a handful off a branch.

A small trickle of juice slips from one of the berries, rolling down my palm and leaving a trail of stained pink. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Can I really do this? End my own life with a handful of berries?

But what is the alternative? If Cato catches up to Katniss and Peeta first and manages to kill them, it will be just me and him. There is no kidding anyone, there is no way I would win. I've seen Cato kill earlier on in the Games. It was always a slow kill; he enjoyed torturing his victim, watching the life drain out of their eyes with a cold smirk on his face.

And if the District 12 tributes kill Cato? There will be two of them against me and I know there is no way I would be able to fight them. They would be armed with weapons they are comfortable using whilst I would have just a knife I can barely look at without throwing up. Plus their bellies would be full of food whilst I am weak with hunger. I would not be able to focus. I would be killed.

But I know with my extensive knowledge of plants and berries that by swallowing a handful of the fruit, death would be instant. I will not be conscious as my limbs are hacked off or have to feel the sting of an arrow piercing my heart and the blood rushing out of my chest.

It is at that moment when all the hope and strength drains out of me. I finally realise the hopelessness of my situation and the cold, hard fact there really isn't anything I can do to turn this all around.

I know I no longer have a choice, there is only one thing I can do.

I draw up all the courage which has failed me during the Games and close my eyes. I must do it now, before I lose the courage. My hand trembles and tears burn the back of my eyes. But I refuse to cry. I am determined to make my last act one of bravery.

I will not let them win.

I bring up the hand enclosing the berries up to my mouth and slowly, hesitantly, place the sweet fruit onto my tongue.

Instantly the sharp yet impossibly sweet juice explodes in my mouth, coating every surface, tantalising my taste buds.

I let out one last ragged breath.

And then I swallow.


End file.
